


Queen of Hearts, Jack of Spades

by Kenkaya



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Bakumatsu Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenkaya/pseuds/Kenkaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kamiya Kaoru, a young inn worker, watches Kenshin's descent into the madness of the hitokiri. Will their self-inflicted duties allow them to reach out to each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood, Sake, and Tears

**Author's Note:**

> The very first fanfic I ever wrote, started way back in 2003. The early chapters have been edited a few times since (every time that other site decided to change it's formating on me and remove important things like section breaks) so it's not nearly as raw as it once was. While I still consider this idea a bit cliche, I think I took it in interesting directions that might surprise a few people. But enough of my bragging, you came here to read fic!

xxxxxx

 

The setting sun rose-tinted cotton clouds and veiled the city of Kyoto in shadow; prelude to the darkness of night. With night came blackness, oblivion and death. Silent killers stalked narrow alleys, bathing the streets in blood, all peace swept away by metallic streams of red. 

But for now, the sun framed his flame-red hair, giving off a warm orange glow. His hair was long, pulled high into a samurai top-knot and hanging past delicate shoulders. Fiery bangs fell across his face, hiding soft violet eyes, the thin scar running vertically down his right cheek barely visible through them. Wind teased the silken strands as he leaned casually against a wooden bridge rail, staring absently into the iridescent river depths below.

The tranquil scene reflected across clear sapphire eyes: tears lacing the lower lids as she watched him from the street. When evening fell he would leave, off into the night to fulfill his duty. She sighed. He was little more than a boy, barely a man. His heart was pure but lost. Lost alongside his innocence, on the day he first wielded a blade with intent to kill. 

Shadows lengthened ominously. He knew she was there, but made no attempt to acknowledge her presence. They stood in silence for several moments, eddies of road-dust swirling between them like a cruel metaphor. 

“It’s late,” the young man finally said. His voice was gentle, almost feminine. 

She smiled back, “I know.” 

He did not face her, merely straightened and walked away. The woman watched him melt into darkness like a shade. A single tear slid down the contours of her cheek before hastily being wiped away. Fearful for her own safety, she turned to head back inside with forced resolve. Another night had begun.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

The night was young. He was void, detached, as he observed the next victim; no hint of expression flashing across vacant boyish features. They walked in a typical cluster formation, using the lack of light to confuse his sight and obscure their numbers. An easy trick to see through. He focused immediately on the sound of their footfalls: one uneven (too clumsy to be much of a fighter,) three deliberate and precise. So, four men would die by his sword tonight. He stepped forward.

“Who’s there?”

One of the guards whipped around, sword diligently unsheathed. He spotted a short, lean man with scarlet hair and feral eyes. A killer’s eyes. 

“Hitokiri,” the man growled under his breath. 

“I come to deliver Heaven’s Justice,” the hitokiri answered in monotone; his voice lowering to a husky, baritone drawl. He distinctly heard the target gasp. All Bafuku supporters knew and feared the implications of hearing that phase. 

“Well?! What am I paying you idiots for?! Get him!” 

Two bodyguards jumped forward without further introduction. The hitokiri’s face remained blank as he crouched in battoujutsu stance. He was ready when the first man came. Releasing his weapon with God-like speed, the hitokiri blocked the incoming blade, shoving it aside and twisting his katana deftly to slice through the exposed jugular. He raised a bloodied sword immediately afterward to catch the second man’s swing without breaking form. The first fell out of range, propelled forward by his own momentum, and lay still on the ground as life pumped out of him in crimson torrents. 

The second wasted no time, throwing his full weight into an aggressive frontal attack. Metal grated against metal. The hitokiri slid back a pace before flicking his katana almost dismissively to dislodge it. The man jumped back on reflex. He noted (only for a brief second) the third guard who remained behind to cover his target, obviously waiting for a perfect moment to ambush. Attention was brought to the second man once again as he initiated the next attack, blade poised with deadly precision to slash the hitokiri’s throat. Without emotion the hitokiri leap effortlessly into the air, sailing over a messily tied topknot, whirling around in ready position as sandaled feet softly touch-landed. The man skidded to a halt and whipped back to face behind him. With a cocky smirk, he pulled his blade back for another forceful assault- and was promptly stabbed through his unprotected stomach. The hitokiri twisted his katana to a pain-filled scream, swung upwards, and wrenched the blade out before his opponent could react.

As the second bodyguard thudded against soiled dirt, the third sprung into action. Imminent death flashing before his eyes, the target fled. Hitokiri senses flashed an alert and he dashed forward. The guard had barely raised his sword when the assassin was upon him. He spun around the man’s weapon artfully, decapitating him from behind. Flicking blood habitually from his katana, the hitokiri re-sheathed the blade. 

His quarry’s footsteps were heavy; he pursued with relative ease. A strangled cry rang out as he grabbed the man’s expensive, indigo haori from behind and thrust him aside. The target hit the wall with a muffled curse. 

“Damn rebels!” 

The hitokiri did not respond to his abrasive outburst. He was going to die, let the man have his last words. 

“Damn Ishin Shishi,” he repeated. “You won’t accomplish anything. You’re just a bunch of idealists!” 

The hitokiri poised his drawn sword.

“Justice,” he whispered to himself as his weapon arched. The target pulled out his own blade, grip slightly awkward. The hitokiri pushed the wayward blade aside easily. The man barely had time to scream before the katana crushed down on his bald skull. The hitokiri didn’t wince as warm scarlet showered over him. Crunching bone echoed brutally through his ears. 

“Good, good.” 

The hitokiri turned. Two men, dressed in shabby dark clothing, walked out into the open. 

“Inspectors,” the hitokiri stated. He acknowledged them curtly before fading into the night.

“He’s good,” one of the men said. “No one’s touched him since Shigekura’s guard slashed his cheek.”

“Still, his sword has dulled,” the other observed coldly. “He kills them without blinking: a true hitokiri, but he’s not the same as he was when he started. Has it already been a year?”

“Yeah, most hitokiri either die or go mad by now. He really is something.”

“What do you say we go for a drink, eh?”

“Sounds good to me.” 

The men placed scrolls baring written characters for ‘Tenchuu’ over every body: Heaven’s Justice. They left chilling corpses behind them, chatting casually as they strolled down a now peaceful alley. Blood soaked the sodden earth.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

The water ran off clear. Blue eyes watched from a distance as the young man entered the inn grounds late, blood running through his crimson hair. The water had long since failed to yield a pink taint, but he still washed. He washed methodically, trying in vain to erase memories and a stench only he perceived. 

“Kenshin,” she called softly from the open porch door. 

He turned to her. Long bangs plastered along the border of his pale face accented eyes a molted mixture of violet and wild amber. As he laid those eyes upon the young girl before him, lush raven hair hanging loose down her back, the amber faded. Deep blue pools crinkled in a weary smile. 

“Would you like me to prepare a warm bath for you,” she asked the soaked man standing outside beside the well. He returned her stare for a few silent seconds before finally responding with a brusque, commanding tone. 

“No,” he walked inside past her, dripping.

“Goodnight, Kenshin,” a female voice sounded as he ascended the stairs. 

“Goodnight, Kaoru-san,” the man tossed gently over dampened shoulders before continuing to his allotted room.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

The sun shone brightly over a Japanese horizon, reveling in all its early morning glory. Outside, birdsong filtered through the air as human life began to stir. Kyoto awoke slowly from its nightmarish existence; smoking kitchen chimneys, familial shouts, and merchant greetings eagerly replacing bloodshed and battle cries. A new day had dawned.

Kaoru diced vegetables surrounded by newborn light. Metal knife clicking across the wooden cutting board in a steady rhythm, she performed the only kitchen duty their landlady trusted her with diligently. A brief smile graced small lips as the girl thought how easily she could poison the unsuspecting Ishin Shishi and decide this stupid war. Her cooking was notorious. Not that she’d ever openly admit it. 

On the subject of Ishin Shishi, her mind soon wandered to a young red-haired soldier, quickly wiping the mischievous smile off her face. Tears threatened to well in her eyes. She held them back. She couldn’t be sad for him now, the men needed their breakfast. 

“Kaoru-chan,” a fellow worker called insistently. She snapped out of her brooding daze and turned to face curious brown eyes. The woman was probably only a few years older than herself, her dark hair pulled up tightly in a traditional bun. Petite feet shuffled nervously before Kaoru realized (somewhat sheepishly) that she was waiting for a response. 

“Yes, Michiko-san.”

“I’ll finish cutting. Can you carry the rice out?” Kaoru smiled brightly, all traces of tears gone. They’d do anything to get her out of the kitchen, away from food. 

“Of course,” she placed the knife down carefully with feigned ignorance. 

“Um…” 

“Michiko-san?”

“I… we were just wondering… are you alright? You’ve been really quiet lately.”

“Why?!” the blue-eyed girl burst out, exasperated. “Can’t I have a moment to myself without somebody thinking there’s something wrong with me! I was just thinking! Or is there something wrong with that too?!”

“I’m sorry, Kaoru-chan,” Michiko bowed hastily in apology. “It’s just that… you use to be so talkative.” 

Kaoru sighed. The woman was right, perhaps living amidst war and constant fear had finally taken an irreparably toll on her soul. When it came to the everyday joys of life, her heart just didn’t feel the same energy anymore. She picked up the stacked trays and left with a mumbled ‘sorry.’

Sliding the shoji open with her socked foot, she entered a communal dining hall, lined wall to wall with sword-clad men. They grabbed greedily for their rice bowls. She served them quickly, hurrying to leave as one of the more lecherous fiends began to loudly relay his nightly escapades. 

As Kaoru slipped through the doorway’s promised sanctuary, she glanced back at Kenshin. He sat calmly surrounded by rowdy men, the invisible wall between them painfully obvious. 

With a melancholy breath, she remembered the shy, young boy he was the first time she saw him. She recalled how his eyes always shone a brilliant shade of purple, how the other girls swooned over him. No small wonder, he was soft-spoken and courteous, often helping where he could around the inn. No scar marred his face. 

Then he received the first black envelope. She saw him return late that night, stained with blood. 

_“Kenshin?”_ she had called out warily. 

_He turned to face her. His eyes were a hard, steely blue. She watched passively as cold blue eventually transformed to feral amber. The eyes of a killer._

He was the hitokiri; he accepted his fate and ate in silent solitude. Kaoru felt tears again. She couldn’t be sad for him now.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kenshin walked aimlessly through the streets of Kyoto. He found walking through the bustle of the city a refreshing change of pace, especially with the late hours he usually kept now. He dodged easily as a pair of children dashed across his path, laughing. They were closely followed by an angry woman, flushed and winded from their chase. He allowed a faint smile to break through his mask. In his eyes, nothing was more cherished than a child’s smile. He killed for that smile. He fought a war and hardened his heart to ensure a new era: an era where children like them could laugh freely. 

Where they could live the childhood he never had. 

The children’s smile quickly found itself in second place when he saw her. Kaoru was in the market, laden with groceries. He was tempted to make himself known, offer to carry those groceries, but consented to watch her. He briefly wondered about his actions and reasoned with himself that her safety was part of his duty. 

He slipped gracefully through the crowd, analyzing her every movement. He lowered his head slightly, fiery bangs hiding his line of sight. And the scar.

She was beautiful. Her raven hair pulled back in a high ponytail, oddly mirroring his own. She wore her favorite yellow kimono, embroidered with cherry blossoms along the sleeves. A pink ribbon, matching her obi, completed the ensemble. 

The inn came into view while he was busy admiring her. Satisfied with her safe entrance, he turned to enter a nearby bar: the transition so smooth it appeared to have been his destination all along.

Inside, the building was full to brimming with drunks. Kenshin sat at a corner table, ordered, and drank quietly in the shadows. His lips curled as he took the first sip. Bitter. The sake held a faint metallic aftertaste strangely reminiscent of blood. His master’s words haunted him. 

_“In spring, cherry blossoms by night. In summer, the stars. In autumn, the full moon. In winter, the snow. These are always enough to make sake delicious. If it tastes bitter, that’s proof there’s something sick inside your soul.”_

He grimaced inwardly. Did he even have a soul anymore? Everything tasted like blood now.

Shaking his head slightly to clear those wayward thoughts, he racked his brain for any musings that did not possess crimson-colored violence or his former master. Immediately, he found an anchor in the memory of Kaoru. 

The day he met her. 

He remembered walking, bored, into the inn kitchens. The girls had been nice enough, literally taking over every task the landlady had offered his idle hands and flirting mercilessly while doing so. He didn’t really mind. Having spent all of his adolescent years secluded in the mountains, he had no desire (or experience) to play their gender games. The boy simply ignored their advances and responded mannerly. At some point, he noticed a girl standing off to the side, cutting vegetables while chatting amicably to an older girl who had given up on him earlier. She was quite comely. 

“Himura-san?” 

He turned toward one of the girls, realizing he hadn’t been paying attention. Kenshin apologized hurriedly but she had already followed his former line of sight. 

“Oh, that’s Kaoru,” she said loudly with a hint of jealousy. Said girl’s head snapped up at the mention of her name. “She’s new, but she’s only allowed to cut vegetables because she can’t cook to save her life.”

“Reiko!” Kaoru protested, her cheeks tinged pink. 

“It’s true! Okami-san won’t trust her with any other duty but cleaning in the kitchen.”

“Reiko! Stop it! I do my share,” the embarrassed girl fumed.

“That doesn’t change the fact you can’t cook. What type of man do you ever hope to snag, anyway? Nobody wants a wife who can’t cook.”

“Who said anything about men?!”

“Now, now,” he stepped between the quarreling pair, feeling somewhat at fault for their fight. 

“Fine… it’s Kenshin, right?” Kaoru sighed in defeat. He nodded mutely, somewhat taken aback by the sudden familiar address. 

“How could you be so disrespectful to Himura-san?” Reiko shouted, placing extra emphasize on the -san. “You’re so unlady-like. No one will ever marry you. You probably call your own father by his name! Not that he doesn’t deserve it for forgetting to teach you some…” 

Kaoru snapped. “How DARE YOU!” she shrieked, shaking the knife over her head threateningly. “How dare you bring my father into this! My father is a great man! I’d never show him anything but my highest regard!” 

She stabbed her knife into the cutting board after her tirade, splitting the wood, and stomped out of the kitchen. Not a single soul moved to stop her.

“Oh don’t worry about her,” Reiko sniffed, shattering the lingering quiet. “The little brat’s just having one of her temper tantrums. She is only fourteen after all.”

“I’m fourteen,” he said before he could stop himself. 

“Oh, well… you’re different. You’re so mature,” she giggled and continued to prattle on nervously. 

Kenshin glanced in the direction she’d gone with a sympathetic gaze before turning back to his chore. He remained, offering brief polite responses when the girls addressed him, but his heart was no longer set on work. He feigned fatigue soon afterwards, brushing off Reiko’s obvious invitation as he left. Not in the mood to return to the isolation of his room, the young swordsman decided to take a walk in the gardens. 

He allowed his feet and mind to wander down the winding gravel paths. It was hard to believe, standing in the middle of cultivated sanctuary, that this was indeed a city ravaged by war. Kenshin remembered seeing the subtle signs when he first arrived: the quick glances and hurried steps of people on the street, several women walking past dazedly with shorn hair, ominously dark wet spots soaking into the dusty road, a slight stink beginning to emit as noonday sun baked the earth. A cold shiver had run down his spine back then, suddenly apprehensive at the thought he would soon be joining that nightly dance. Soon, he wouldn’t have time to stroll through peaceful gardens. 

Badly suppressed sniffles interrupted his depressing train. Curious, he followed the soft sound until he found Kaoru, crouched behind a large tree and crying miserably. The clueless boy (unsure how to handle the situation but unwilling to just leave) knelt down besides her, fidgeting. He hesitantly lifted a comforting hand when she spoke. 

“Reiko’s right, but I don’t care! I don’t need anybody! I’m fine.”

“Kaoru-san,” he paused. What should he say to her? He had very little experience when it came to dealing with emotions. His overbearing master certainly gave no examples! 

“I’m fine,” she lifted her chin and curved her lips in an attempt to smile. The gesture might have worked too, if her face wasn’t already horribly blotchy from tears.

“Kaoru-san, Reiko-san shouldn’t have said those things to you. It wasn’t very nice,” he mentally slapped himself afterwards. It wasn’t very nice?! God, he sounded like a child! Or an idiot. _She probably thinks I’m both right about now_ ,Kenshin thought bleakly. But, really… what else could he say when she was looking up at him with those hurt, red-rimmed eyes. 

“I’m fine, Kenshin. It’s nothing to me.” 

His gaze never left her as she jumped up and ran off like a frightened rabbit. Watching her retreating back he realized, somewhat surprisingly, that she wasn’t afraid; she was hiding. 

_Like me_ , he mulled back at the bar, draining the last of his sake in a haze. Still bitter.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

TBC...


	2. Light and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaoru ruminates on her conflicted motivations while Kenshin grows more intrigued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a question about the title after last chapter so here’s a brief-silly-and-slightly-embarrassing explanation: if I suck at one thing its titles. This one is kind of a pun on playing cards. When playing cards were first used in Europe, the Spades was actually a Swords card. So, in roundabout way, I'm referring to Kenshin as the Jack of Swords (I'm a huge bookworm and incredibly corny). Kaoru became the Queen of Hearts because it fits her future role in this fic. I was really stumped for a title and, being the crazy I am, just picked a totally random pun.

xxxxxx

A moment of natural quiet seemed to settle over the Kyoto nightscape, caught between grisly late night activities and the routine morning bustle. Kaoru sat diminutively by the inn garden’s koi pond amidst this rare peace. A steady trickle of water added to the tranquil atmosphere and the flickering orange light from her lantern occasionally caught flashes of gold scales beneath the inky surface. She watched the play of lights intently for several moments before raising her face to the heavens. The stars shone brightly overhead, though there was no moon to see by.

"Hello, father," she said with a self-conscious smile, pulling at the collar of her pastel sleeping yukata. "How are you? Still mad at me? Probably… I really disappointed you… and I know who I inherited my stubbornness from,” the girl chuckled a bit at that, hands moving to fiddle with the braid slung over her shoulder instead. “We hardly ever made up after a fight on our own. We usually needed… well… that’s why I’m here, isn’t it. You had good reasons… I’ll admit that, but so do I. I hope you can see that someday. 

“Well, I'm fifteen now. Its funny, would you believe I almost forgot…? Had to keep reminding myself yesterday. But maybe now you can see I'm not a child anymore. I can work for and make my own decisions. I know I shamed you but I have to do this! I swear I'll hold to my word! I'll bring him back and make everything right again… promise."

She rose from her vigil, picking up the solitary lantern as she did so. Expression raw with numerous emotions, she walked back down the dark gravel path. Her steps crunched rhythmically as her thoughts wavered, finally settling on a young swordsman with flame-red hair. No (she shook her head resolutely), he would not distract her anymore. She tried instead to concentrate on a different, more familiar, young man: tousled black hair hanging in his eyes as he graced her with a boyish, lopsided smile. But his features seemed faded somehow. After a minutes struggle, she sighed and gave in.

Did she really love him?

She stopped before the inn doorway and turned back to face the night.

"Why am I so hopeless! Father, I don’t know if you have faith in my strength, but please… someone needs to..."

Then, she slid open the shoji, disappearing into the shadowed interior.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kenshin released a bated breath after the resounding thwack of the screen door signaled Kaoru’s departure. He shifted slightly in his partially-intentional hiding spot, back pressed against brown roof tiles. The hitokiri had come up here for peace, but instead he found confusion.

Tonight had been the closest he ever got to a break these days: no one died by his sword. But idle hands brought out the demons in his mind. Kenshin both dreaded and savored downtime; good days always preceded sweat-filled nights dreaming of blood rather than witnessing it. He wasn’t sure which one was worse anymore. This meant the boy rarely slept more than a couple hours at a time and had grown quite familiar with taking refugee on the rooftop. He had been laying under the moonless sky after another nightmare just now, head pillowed on crossed arms, when a creaking floorboard below alerted him. He sat up then, watching with wary eyes as a small bubble of lantern light emerged from the porch overhang, followed by a female silhouette. The hiokiri relaxed the moment he recognized her. Apparently, an innocent girl like Kaoru needed peace of mind tonight as well. 

Kenshin decided not to reveal himself, simply content to share the tranquility in silence. For several long moments they did just that: him on the roof and her by the koi pond. Until she broke the quiet. 

To say her revelations were a surprise would understate the emotional reaction they stirred in him. She disobeyed her father and ran away from home? Yesterday was her birthday? Why didn’t Okami-san or the other workers seem to know? And this man she was looking for, who was he? What was he to her?

Questions bounced around in his brain as the realization that Kaoru wasn’t as innocence as he assumed hit. _No one here really knows her, do they?_ He suddenly felt something inside himself go cold. Why did he care? If this mysterious man was so important to her, he should just let her go on with her search. When she found him, she would leave with him and that was that. So be it.

Sudden as the monologue began, it ended, and she was walking back towards the porch. Kenshin leaned back to better hide his position, listening carefully to each resolute, crunching footstep. The wait seemed agonizing; he just wanted the girl to leave him to whatever peace he could find at this point.

"Why am I so hopeless! Father, I don’t know if you have faith in my strength, but please… someone needs to..."

_What? She's hopeless? What does she mean by that?_

But she never elaborated, and now the boy was left alone to brood on the roof. He let out a resigned sigh. The faint scent of night jasmine hung in the air.

_So much for getting back to sleep tonight._

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kaoru strolled the city streets, habitually scanning faces in the crowd. As always, she never found what she was looking for: the reason she came to Kyoto. The pang of disappointment she used to feel no longer felt as sharp after a year. Still, she kept searching. She couldn't return to Edo without him, much less face her father.

Painful memories of _him_ flooded her mind. Exhausted, she made her way to the river and flopped (unlady-like) down on a patch of grass under the bridge. Shifting in the shade to ensure she was out of sight from the street, Kaoru kicked off her zori, peeled away her tabi, and hiked up her kimono to dip her sweaty feet into the river. The water rippled around her calves, moving onward to flash in the sunlight. Like a deadly dance of steel. She shivered. 

Why did Keisuke leave? He was such a gentle boy, who loved life almost as much as he loved her. Who practically worshiped her father’s unorthodox teachings. Didn’t he realize how much he hurt them ( _her_ )? He willingly betrayed everything Kamiya Kasshin Ryu stood for! She wondered bitterly if he’d killed yet. Were his eyes the same warm brown that crinkled with pride as he encouraged her training? Or were they like Kenshin’s now?

Kenshin. Why couldn't she get the handsome hitokiri out of her head? But, she recalled, he wasn’t an assassin when she met him. She remembered the awkward boy who tried to calm her tears in the inn garden. She remembered brilliant violet eyes filled with compassion and kindness he didn’t quite know how to fully express. Then she remembered watching those same eyes turn a steely, deadened blue and (finally) wild amber. Every second-rate poet and their mothers swore that eyes were windows to the soul. By the look in his eyes, his soul was poisoned, rotting away further with each slaughter. It was painful enough watching the transformation in Kenshin. She didn’t want to soil her memory of Keisuke by juxtaposing the same occurrence with him. 

Tears rose, acknowledging the truth she refused to face. She let them fall. Each time a sob shook her chest she kicked her feet in the water, hiding the sound behind a playful splash. By the time she was spent, the sun had already dipped low on the horizon. She washed the salt and red from her face before heading back to the inn.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kenshin spent the day roving through the city again. He wove between neighborhoods and marketplaces, avoiding the alleys and backstreets of his nightlife. Nearly two weeks had passed since he received a black envelope: he traveled those routes enough in his dreams. By late afternoon, any distraction the dirt-packed streets of Kyoto could provide had long since worn off. 

A parade of Shinsengumi caused him a slight detour on the way back. He fell back and let the crowd swallow him, thankful (for once) for his short stature. Perhaps he should start wearing a hat of some sort, especially if Mibu's wolves continued to make these marches a habit. The Bafuku were becoming anxious.

Much to his chagrin, Kenshin reached the inn late, missing dinner. He would have to visit the kitchens if he wanted something to eat. The boy stood awkwardly in the doorway after making his request, watching the girls flit nervously around kitchen counters as they rushed to fulfill it. Tension hung thick in the air like a muggy fog, resulting in fumbling fingers and several broken bowls. Hurried, whispered apologies accompanied the clacking of china. Finally, Reiko approached him with a covered tray: eyes downcast, knuckles white against black lacquered handles. She was afraid of him. _How ironic_.

He grabbed the tray and left with a curt thank you. The relief (from both him and the kitchen staff) was palpable. Kenshin had just begun ascending the stairwell to his second-story room, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped eagerly at the smells wafting up, when a man’s leering voice floated down from the upstairs hall. 

"… on’t be shy, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it worth your while."

He frowned, not in the mood to interrupt a shameless rendezvous. But, he was hungry, and another whiff of cooked rice pushed him onward.

"I said don't touch me!"

Kaoru.

"Hey, hey… no need to get bitchy on me now."

"Let go!"

Kenshin rushed up the remaining flight. From his vantage point at the end of the hall, he saw that the stocky man (Moroboshi, if he recalled correctly) had a handhold on the girl’s lavender sleeve and was unsuccessfully attempting to drag her towards an empty room.

An inexplicable, protective rage bubbled inside him at the sight. _How dare that man touch her like this! Like some common… how dare he disrespect her!_

"I. Said. Let. Go."

She elbowed the man's gut in a sudden show of self-sufficiency and used the distraction to jerk her arm free. Moroboshi hunched over, glowering, his male pride obviously more bruised than his body. Kaoru turned away with a dismissive huff.

"I'll get you for that, bitch!" the man reached for her ponytail as she walked away.

Kenshin had enough. He stepped forward in disgust (deliberately setting off a creaky floorboard) and glared at the man. Moroboshi stumbled back as he made his presence known; no one wanted to cross a hitokiri, especially this one.

“Hi… Himura! I didn’t know you were…”

The hitokiri brushed past him, ignoring the ignorant words spewing from his mouth. Just ahead, the girl kept walking, not once turning back to acknowledge her rescuer. Kenshin followed as a sort-of-impromptu escort. Moroboshi’s stuttering died off by the time they reached Kenshin’s room. The boy halted and reached out to open his shoji, expecting nothing in return from her by this point. Unfortunately, he was wrong, 

"Kenshin! What did you think were you doing?" Kaoru exclaimed, now that they were out of earshot. The subject of her ire almost dropped his meal in shock before quickly composing himself.

"Helping," he replied shortly. Hitokiri were not known for their ways with words. That's what politicians were for.

"Why?" she pressed.

"It seemed like it would be welcome."

"I can handle myself! If I couldn't I would've been raped ages ago," she cut off her tirade with flushed cheeks. "I didn't mean to be so blunt, but it's the truth."

"This has happened before?"

She snorted at his (surprising) naiveté. "It happens to all the girls. Iizuka practically jumped me my first night here. Thank goodness I don’t have to deal with it much anymore."

"Oh?" he couldn't stop his curiosity or the hard edge to his voice.

"Aren't we talkative today," she grinned, amusement taking over her irritation. "The men usually stay away from me because of what I did to Iizuka. It's still a sore spot on his ego!"

He cocked his head slightly in interest.

"I kicked him where it hurts a man most… with geta on! He could barely stand afterwards!"

Kenshin visibly winced. That would do the trick.

"Serves him right, trying to corner me like that. I'm not exactly helpless! And then the next morning, he was telling all the men what a good lay I was to fuel his own ego!" she sighed in exasperation. "I have to admit I enjoyed it when the truth came out. The men laughed at him for days! Then the idiot goes after me again to save face."

He never classified Iizuka as a first-class idiot before.

"He went after you _again_?"

She bobbed her head. His eyes fixed momentarily on the swishing movement of her hair. "He snuck in the servant rooms at night to catch me… unguarded. Scared me nearly half to death!"

A fresh wave of rage bubbled forth. He clenched the lacquered handles in his hands tight and clamped down on the frenzied emotion.

"He never got a chance to do anything, though," she chuckled. "You should have seen it! Okami-san was so angry. She threatened to throw out all the Ishin Shishi and ban them from the inn. Even Katsura-sama! It was great! By the time you came around the whole thing had pretty much blown over. Your anti-social tendencies don't lend themselves much to gossip either."

His lips twisted into light, mocking scowl.

“Excuse me?"

"You know perfectly well what I meant."

He dropped the irate act and simply gave a resigned shrug, "I am a hitokiri."

"You're not just a hitokiri," She assured him, tugging on his navy sleeve gently. He looked at her face and noticed for the first time that her blue eyes were slightly shot. Had she been crying?

"What am I, then?"

"I think a more fitting question is: what are you hiding from?"

"I could ask you the same," he snapped, her sudden insight putting him on edge.

She laughed almost bitterly at his response. 

"I guess we're all here because we're either running or hiding."

"Or both," he added.

"Or both," she agreed before slipping down the hall towards the servant quarters. Kenshin watched her go, glancing down at his tray afterwards. The food was cold and his appetite was gone.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

_What would you think of me now?_

Kenshin sat alone in his room that night, back against the open window beam as he watched a wooden top spin in the darkness. The top was plain, no brilliant colors or intricate carvings to distract the eye. The whirling object captivated him.

_I kill. Everyday, a little more of my heart, my soul, feels lighter… gone. Memories are my only respite. And..._

The top fell over and clunked loudly across wooden floorboards, breaking his thoughts. The boy sighed. A frustrated hand shot up to smack his forehead, pale fingers lacing through fiery bangs in a desperate grip. On and on, his mind jumped from past to present and in between- never resting. How on earth was he supposed to sleep like this?

He needed to think of another topic ( _anything besides…_ ). His childhood: he remembered parts of it fondly though it was short, too short. Kenshin latched on to the scattered happy images of family. His father, his mother, his brothers- back then he had truly been innocent.

Back then he was Shinta, the rice farmer's shy youngest son. He was a small, profound boy who stepped between fights, who hated discord. His father often teased his delicate looks, calling him 'musume' and his brothers shouted 'imouto' in unison. He hated that too. Sometimes, he would chase them in anger while they laughed good-naturedly at “a little girl’s” empty threats. Those care-free days lasted until- 

His ninth birthday. The summer wind blew harsh. The land was dry. His favorite older brother ( _Ryuu-niisan…_ ) smiled, handing him a hand-carved wooden top: plain, but obviously crafted with love.

_"Here, Shin-chan, let me show you how to use that."_

The last birthday present he got. The last memento of his innocence. In a few months, a cholera epidemic would steal Shinta’s childhood and enslave him. The wood, smooth with age, was all that remained.

Kenshin sighed, picked up the top, and wrapped the string around it again. He let it fly.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kaoru woke early, restless for some unknown reason. Outside, the sky was black; a crescent moon provided only the faintest light through her small overhead window.

Shoving the blankets aside, she lifted herself off the futon, careful not to wake her sleeping roommates. She pulled a gray haori over her pale blue yukata and unbraided sleep-mussed hair, deciding to leave it loose down her back after a moments thought. With light steps, she left the comfort of her room and walked out toward the gardens without a lantern.

Nature always soothed her. Even at home, she ran to find solace by her late mother's flowers. She walked up to the koi pond. It was bigger than the one at home. She released a breath as she knelt, dipping a hand lazily into the cool water reflecting the black sky.

She wondered who was taking care of her mother's flowers. Her mother had died when she was very young; the flowers were a way for her to connect to a woman she could no longer put a face to. Who, other than her, would bother with them?

Keisuke might have (how often had he found her sulking there?), but his departure was the reason she left. Her father surely would, but he was probably lamenting over losing his surrogate son and only child.

_I'm sorry father._

She walked inside, trekking aimlessly through the halls. She passed Kenshin's room. A cool breeze flitted across the hall and Kaoru noticed his shoji was open a crack. She reached to close it.

_Wait… where is the breeze coming from?_

Curious, she peeked in and saw a shadowed silhouette propped up against the open window: asleep. Smiling at his relaxed posture, she stepped in. He looked like a child slumped in slumber, aside from the sheathed katana propped against his shoulder. The girl could just barely make out the dark discoloration his violent scar, running down the length of his left cheek, with night-accustomed eyes. She tiptoed across the room, intending to close the window and leave him undisturbed-

He shifted suddenly, mumbling incoherently. She heard something solid fall onto the floor. A wooden object rolled across padded timber, spiraling to a stop at her feet. She picked it up warily.

_A top?_ She stood there in his room against better judgment, turning the toy over in her hands carefully. It must have some sentiment for him to keep it. _Why?_

He broke through her pondering with a sharp cry. Kaoru hurried to his side just as frantic amber eyes snapped open.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kenshin was running. The alleys of Kyoto were unusually dark, not even a wayward street lamp in sight, but he could still smell the blood caked everywhere- could feel it squelching beneath his sodden zori. He turned sharply around a corner, recognizing the familiar route back to the inn, though somehow it felt… off. Didn’t he usually make a right there instead of a left? And what was this red haze that seemed to hang in the air?

A man suddenly stepped from the shadows, halting both his momentum and thoughts. The boy squinted at the man, trying to place him ( _I’ve seen him somewhere before…_ ) as the figure shuffled towards him. The stranger stumbled clumsily, a sliver of purple gi peeking out from between the part of his black haori, and lifted his chin to stare forward with filmy eyes. Dark liquid dribbled out the corner of his mouth sluggishly. Kenshin gasped as the man’s identity finally hit him.

_The first man I killed._ He died months ago, staining holy ground red like the brilliant temple arches above. Bile rose in the boy’s throat at the memory. _How could I not realize…_ the man’s gi wasn’t purple, but blood-soaked blue. The stain’s color was lost in the pitch folds of his haori. 

The dead-man drew his blade without sound. _Even the metal is dead._ On pure instinct, Kenshin unsheathed his own sword and charged. Before logic could catch up, his sword was in the man's heart. But the man still stared, and soon it wasn’t even the dead-man anymore. His features were harsher, more angular. Against all reason, a body once below-average height towered over him. A flowing white mantle engulfed the two of them.

“Shishou… ?”

Hiko bent down, his every movement exuding strength and purpose (even while impaled), and whispered, "My foolish pupil… what did you expect when you turned your back?"

The large, bulky figure continued to press down on him, suffocating him. _No, no, no!_ With a guttural cry trapped somewhere between denial and horror, he pushed the corpse aside. The sheer weight of his former master left his arms shaking and his body slumped to the gore-slick ground: exhausted. Heavy lids slid shut.

_Another presence._ He snapped frantic eyes open to face the next demon, reaching for his mysteriously re-sheathed katana.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kaoru didn’t startle when he woke, or when a fisted hand clenched the pale cloth of her yukata, holding her place. In truth, she barely registered those actions before cold steel digging into the delicate skin above her trachea blocked out everything else. She didn’t even have time to wonder whether she was about to die-

Then he threw her away, roughly. She landed in a crumpled heap on tatami mats, chest heaving, and sat up dazedly. Rough fingertips prodded against the dull sting on her throat and came away wet. Kaoru clutched at the wound as time returned to a normal pace, the true gravity of her narrow-brush finally hitting. She glanced up at the hitokiri standing over her, hand still wrapped gingerly around her neck. 

He stood frozen in the moment: expression slack with left hand curled around the blade to kill its momentum. Blood ran in thin rivulets down the edge. His wide purple eyes were a stark contrast to the fierce sight before. Kaoru looked at him, trembling slightly in his grim pose, and was reminded once again that the Hitokiri Battousai was also a boy.

"Kenshin," she called wincing at the sharp pain as muscles pulled on broken skin...

He raised his head and stared as if she were a ghost.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"Kenshin," she called hoarsely. 

He pulled his blade on her. _I pulled my blade on her!_

He raised his head. Her face was a pale blue to his night vision and dark, midnight tresses spilled loosely over her shoulders. Her yukata was a soft blue as well, only a few shades darker than her skin. The dim moonlight, invading through his open window, gave the girl an ethereal glow.

Then he saw his mark on her: saw the fingers, sticky with blood, pressed against the wound on her throat. He shook in rage and fear. In the many months since he started killing, he had never been sickened by the sight of gore- until now.

"Kenshin," she called again softly. She was beside him ( _when did she get there?_ ), an uncertain hand placed on his arm. The hand mesmerized him for a moment. He shrugged it off.

"You're hurt," Kaoru stated matter-of-factly, frowning at his gesture. Undeterred, she reached forward and pried his hand off the blade. 

He lifted his eyes to the wound of her neck, now exposed, as she fumbled around for the medical kit he’d gestured vaguely to. Just a shallow cut. He sucked in a grateful breath.

"Don’t,” he tried to protest, now that reality had set in. “This is nothing… you shouldn’t..."

"You're wrong," she cut him off, walking over with the box. “This isn’t ‘nothing.’ Let me help you.”

“What about you?” Kenshin asked as she wrapped his hand.

“Your’s is deeper,” Kaoru shot back. “Don’t worry about me.” 

But the boy insisted on treating her anyway. He liberally applied ointment and bandaged the wound. She watched in awe, marveling at how hands so adept at killing could tie a bandage so deftly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered once he was done. Kaoru nodded, accepting his apology, and pulled a stashed object out of her sleeve. 

"What's this?" she held out his top.

He stared.

"A memory," he finally answered.

"That means you have hope, then," she took his uninjured hand and placed the top inside. "Don't lose your heart, Kenshin." She then rose and bid him farewell with a smile.

"Kaoru-san?"

"Hai," she paused in the doorway.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why, what?"

Why did you say I have hope? I could have killed you tonight."

"Yes," she affirmed. "I surprised you." Then, she pointed toward his hand. "But you also saved my life. Thank you… and take care of yourself."

He stared in shock at her back as she slid the shoji shut. The scent of night jasmine permeated through the room, the only sign of her passing. He leaned against the windowsill, tired in too many ways, and turned an absent glance toward the sun-stained horizon.

"I had to," he murmured in the dawn light. "I couldn't kill you."

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

TBC…


	3. Black and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaoru sees something she wasn't meant to see...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to clear up some confusion. A few readers thought the dream last chapter was a memory and that I was implying Kenshin killed Hiko (God forbid!). No, it was just a standard 'blurring images and metaphors' nightmare. He 'cut down' his mentor's teachings in a metaphysical sense by leaving to join the Ishin Shishi so that's why his mind conjured that image. Everything before the Remberance Arc regarding Kenshin’s past is the same as canon. Only Kaoru and a couple other characters (who I won’t mention for the sake of surprise) have different roles and back stories.

xxxxxx

Kaoru, wrapped up in her deep blue shawl, decided to brave the encroaching late spring storm for a much-needed drink. It had been a long workday. Ignoring the looming exhaustion headache pulsating just behind her temples, she walked several windy blocks and entered the local bar.

A wave of loud, rancorous song smacked her head-on, filling the stuffy room as the door shut on her startled heels. The place was packed tonight. Feeling little patience for drunk foolery at that moment, the weary woman ordered quickly and sat on one of few empty wooden benches by the door: hoping the small wisps of fresh air accompanying each new addition to chaos would help clear her head. She desperately needed something to loosen the jumbled mess in her mind after the last week.

Subconsciously, she raised a hand to the fading wound on her neck. The other girls had noticed, of course, when she walked into the kitchen bandaged that morning. Making up some silly story no one believed about falling and injuring herself, Kaoru had gone about her duties, ignoring every skeptical whisper that failed to be lost in the silence. When the wrappings came off two days later, baring a razor thin line across, she grit her teeth as the gossip returned full force. They were so- _petty._ The whole lot were (save perhaps Okami-san). None of those vapid girls could comprehend how inane their cares sounded outside that sheltered little kitchen. There were so many more important things to worry about: like the civil war they saw glimpses of everyday in the form of injured and missing revolutionaries. Still, most girls turned a blind eye to the going-ons in their workplace and prattled on. They tactlessly adverted their gazes every time _he_ walked by. 

Kaoru blinked, returning to the present briefly, and poured herself a saucer of the (until now) untouched sake. She sipped slowly, allowing the alcohol to seep through her system before turning brooding thoughts back to the same subject they always seemed to end on these days. 

_Kenshin._

She had seen him as a tragic figure from the very beginning, but, during that nighttime exchange, the full weight of his tragedy hit her and refused to let up. She bolted awake the following night and the next, his semi-lucid eyes echoing through piecemeal remembered dreams. He was dying; a fact she shamefully evaded before (was she really any better than the kitchen girls? Perhaps she had judged too harshly earlier), but was now haunted by. She kept seeing how that simple wooden top rolled across the floor of his room: his only link to sanity.

And yet… _he broke through to save me. Does that mean there’s still hope for him?_ Kaoru wasn’t deaf, though the way some Ishin Shishi talked around her made the inn worker wonder if they thought so. She had heard them mention other hitokiri in passing, usually in the context of how none had ever lasted as long as Himura. They all succumbed to the damage, eventually. Kenshin would be no different in the end. _I can see that clearly now._

A gust of chilled wind tousled her ponytail, just as she lifted her saucer for another ruminating shot. Curious blue eyes lifted, meeting somber ebony as an enchantingly beautiful woman stepped through the doorway. The bar noise dimmed slightly as she glided forward. Her hair was pitch, curving inward to frame pale features and even darker eyes. The plain white kimono she wore only accented her seemingly inborn elegance. Kaoru’s head followed on autopilot as the mysterious woman passed by, sitting down gracefully at an adjacent table. In her wake, she left the distilled scent of white plum.

The woman who smelled of white plum ordered chilled sake and Kaoru turned back to her own drink, embarrassed over her intrusive behavior. She knew better; acting that way in a warring city was potentially life-threatening. You never could tell what would catch the wrong person’s attention, so the best defense was simply to keep your head down and nose out of other people’s business. Sudden exclamations of amazement sounded around the bar then, proving not everyone in Kyoto was gifted with such common sense. Apparently, the woman had downed her drink quite impressively.

"Hey, you there, woman… come have a drink with us!"

The woman ignored the two approaching roughnecks with silent dignity.

"Hey, don’t be like that,” the taller (and more daring) of the pair leaned forward, placing a large calloused hand on the table in front of his target. The woman still didn’t acknowledge them. “Have a drink with us! We're Aizu patriots! Drinking with us's the least you could do to thank us!"

"We risk our lives for the common people!" the second declared proudly, spittle flying from his pudgy lips in excitement. Kaoru had to suppress a snort of laughter. With his wide mouth, flattened nose, and round face, the second reminded her strongly of a frog.

"Aizu's on the Bafuku side, idiot!" a random patron shouted. Considering this neighborhood housed several Ishin Shishi safe houses, the support wasn’t surprising.

"What was that?" the first whirled around, fumbling for the katana handle poking through his grey hakama belt. His face was visibly alcohol-flushed.

Kaoru could only shake her head in disgust as the bar grew quiet. The last straw broke when the roughneck smirked triumphantly and turned back to harass the woman.

"Jeez!" she slammed her saucer down to get their attention. "Can't a woman drink in peace anymore!"

"Who are you?" the second blinked at her, further adding to the frog metaphor.

She frowned, "None of your goddamn business." Of all the skills she learned among the Ishin Shishi, her broadened vocabulary was one she rarely indulged in. The situation she found herself in now certainly called for it.

"I see… wanna drink with the heroes too, missy?" the first inquired, tilting his square jaw in a beckoning manner, but instead causing a comical lopsided grin. 

Revulsion swept over her. _I can’t believe these… ugh! I’ve fended off sober men more reputable then these!_

"No, thank you," she responded with an exaggerated polite nod. "And I don't think the lady here is much interested either."

"Are you sure?" he attempted to purr the last word and failed, the air sliding over his lips with a dying sputter. Her answer was a defiant glare. Throughout their exchange, the woman who smelled of white plum simply stared, a glint of inquisitiveness amid dull ebony her only reaction.

"When a woman says no, she damn well means it!" Kaoru stomped her foot and stood to face the men on more equal footing. 

"I don't see a woman, I see a pretty little girl without her daddy," he reached forward, fingertips ghosting over her sleeve as he stretched out far as his arm could reach.

"How dare you!" she cried, slapping his hand away. Her cheeks burned red at both the intimacy of the gesture and anger over his gross inappropriateness.

"You little bitch!" the man shot back in drunk-fueled fury, poised to draw the katana at his hip.

"Draw your blade and I will be forced to draw mine," a soft voice suddenly interrupted.

"Kenshin," Kaoru breathed, eyes flitting around. She found the redhead sitting in an unassuming corner with his drink. A straw hat obscured his telltale features, but she would recognize that voice anywhere.

“The Hell’s your problem?” her assailant threatened emptily.

"Let me give you some advice,” Kenshin set his sake down calmly in contrast to his dangerous tone. “The violence here is only going to get worse. Kyoto is no place for false patriots."

The roughneck, wasted as he was, only registered a short skinny boy condescending to him. He unwisely stepped up to challenge the “runt.”

"And just who do you think you are, boy? Can you even draw that sword of yours?" he sniggered. "Looks a little heavy for you."

"Tetsu, back off," his frog-faced companion pleaded. With his more focused eyes, the second could see what most learned very quickly in Kyoto, lest they end up dead in a dark alley. Never trust appearances. 

"Why not? Don't think I could handle the little midget?"

Kenshin raised his chin then, face still shadowed slightly from the hat, and revealed feral amber eyes to his adversaries for the first time. Even Kaoru couldn’t suppress a shiver at the killing intent dripping from them.

"T… Tetsu! Back the fuck off!"

"Alright, 'right," the drunker of the two mumbled, dumbstruck. He squinted at the incognito assassin, as if trying to figure out how to conjoin the two very different impressions together. The man’s brain was obviously failing.

"Get out of here you frauds!" someone in the crowd yelled suddenly. Kenshin’s bold interference seemed to have roused the bar patrons’ bravado at last.

"Run back to the mud hole you came from!" Another heckler joined the first, followed quickly by a third and a fourth. 

The two roughnecks proved themselves cowardly as their peers, exiting the bar with only indecipherable grumbles. The drunkards cheered victoriously, though their leader didn’t appear inclined to join them. Kenshin only stayed long enough to throw his payment on the table, and left.

Kaoru glanced worriedly at his stiff retreating back before turning to the one they had defended. The woman who smelled of white plum was staring at the beach where he had been sitting, all but burning holes into the dark-stained wood.

"Ah, sorry about the fuss," Kaoru apologized, startling the woman out of her revere. "I just can't stand men like that!"

She shifted awkwardly under the woman’s clinical observation: sorrowful eyes the only emotion on her porcelain face. 

"Uh… my name's Kaoru," she nervously wracked her brain for any subject of conversation and landed on the women’s strange reaction. "Do you know Kenshin?"

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed between them, then-

"You mean the young man who helped us, Kaoru-san," the woman finally spoke. "No, I do not know him. My name is Yukishiro Tomoe."

"Oh, I see,” the vivacious girl had officially run out of things to say at that point. “Well, I need to get back to work. Nice meeting you Tomoe-san."

"Farewell, Kaoru-san."

She left her bill on the table and fled back toward the inn, not sure what to make of the woman named Tomoe. Oh well, in a city large as Kyoto, the chances of them running into each other again were relatively low.

The evening seemed peaceful enough despite the weather, void of familiar metallic gore. Hopefully, she thought as she ran across the street, the storm would hold off until she reached the inn. Several raindrops spattered against her face and she sighed in annoyance. _So much for beating the rain._ A damp breeze whipped through her high ponytail when the first scream sounded ahead. She stopped. Kaoru had survived nearly a year by avoiding such noises; much as it rankled her morals to ignore someone in need, she was prepared to do so one more. Another cry interrupted that thought.

_Wait! That sounded like Kenshin!_

She ran forward, unable to ignore him again. Precious few would have been willing to come to his aid in any scenario: she was determined to be one of those. He deserved that much and more after what this war put him through.

_He didn't get a black envelope today. Did he?_

Her mind was a daze of adrenaline-fueled frenzy. Her heart was pounding. As such, she didn't notice the ghostly figure that followed her through the rain, leaving a distinct trail of white plum.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kenshin groaned, rubbing his temples against a mounting tension headache as he shuffled across the street. Men like that were always bothersome, but he had never acted on his reprehension before.

And why had he? Because tonight that scum had touched her. With one small, utterly scandalized frown she roused a hitokiri’s wrath. _Stupid! What were you thinking?! Too risky!_ Kenshin should have been concerned over the pull she had over his emotions, at the danger such a weakness presented, but the swordsman could no longer shy away from complete truth in his mind.

He cared for Kaoru. She was the innocent, full of life, untainted though corruption hung poised around her at every angle. She was fearless: never once cowering from his presence, even when he returned late that first night bloodstained. When she cried, carrying burdens that weren’t hers to carry alone, he could only stare in awe over her admirable selflessness. Yet, despite these factors, she was not someone easily taken advantage of. She fought against Iizuka to preserve her dignity and stood up to armed men in bars to guard another's. She was strong in her own unique way.

He wanted to protect her.

Quick movement, caught in his peripheral, stalled the emotional backlash of that thought. He was being watched. Sliding effortlessly into the shadows, he readied himself just as a blood-curling shriek split the air. One of the drunks from the bar (the one who touched her!) ran out into the open street, calling for help and begging for mercy in the same breath. He didn't flinch as a flying blade impaled the man. A pool of crimson congealing in the clotted dirt beneath the fresh corpse where he fell. _Karma served him well,_ Kenshin couldn’t help thinking with a sadistic lit to his grin.

"Hitokiri Battousai," a masked assassin called, stepping from his element. He was a large bulky man, dressed head-to-toe in black, and wielding two blades connected by a long chain.

"What is this?"

They were both hitokiri, shadow assassins. Destined to a life as secrets and half-cooked rumors. History would forget their sacrifices; the future would never know their triumphs. What was the point of introductions?

"Don't play innocent with me. I've been waiting for you and I will have your life."

A blurry haze filled the space between them as rain began to fall.

Without further warning the man threw one of his twin swords forward. Battousai leapt, dodging the blade easily. Only quick reflexes saved him from strangulation as the chain wrapped tightly around his neck and hastily thrust fist. He cried out in a mixture of dismay and disgust. He was making rookie mistakes. _Pull yourself together!_ His opponent smirked, obviously seeing opportunity in his momentary disorientation. Jumping off an adjacent wall, the assassin lunged forward to thrust the left-hand blade into his prey’s gut. Battousai had other ideas. He twisted backwards, using the chain to pull his aggressor off balance. The man spun around and flung his sword up in defense. Battousai lurched as the man braced himself against another wall: same old tricks. The chain had loosened during their skirmish, finally allowing the mobility needed to pull his katana free and slice through the assassins middle, nearly cutting him in half. Entrails fell to the ground with a sickening plash. Blood sprayed upward as water sluiced down, baptizing the young hitokiri in sticky ocher rivulets.

A gasp from behind. He turned, panting, poised for the next kill. The bloodlust died as met her wide sapphire eyes. She was simply standing there, shocked and drenched in blood.

"I… I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment’s pause. "I know I wasn't supposed to see." He barely caught the subdued phrase. His hands were numb, stained. He heard the katana plop to the ground.

Her yellow kimono was ruined, he noted with cognitive detachment. Crimson droplets dripped down from her raven locks and nose tip. The faint scent of jasmine that always seemed to embrace her was lost amidst the metallic stench. Her eyelashes were heavy with the thick substance.

_I’ve bathed her in my sins._

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kaoru turned the corner just in time to see a large assassin charging Kenshin, chain wrapped around throat and raised fist, with two blades. She almost called out when he twisted, knocked the assassin off balance and swiftly sliced through him.

Red washed over her. She stared at Kenshin’s slack face through blood coated eyelashes, and said the first thing she could think of; a painful memory, standing in warm, summer rain, letting the pure liquid wash over her body as Keisuke enveloped her in his arms. A whispered apology she didn't understand until too late. A broken promise to protect her eyes from the plight of war and rain of bloodshed. Warm pressure on her lips, followed by bitter absence.

"I… I'm sorry. I know I wasn't supposed to see."

Kenshin stared in shock. His katana fell from limp hands as they faced each other. Around them, rain pattered heavily, but not enough to rinse away the signs of death.

"What are you doing here?" Kenshin finally snapped.

"I was afraid," she answered.

"Then you should have run away."

"I'm sorry, I was just afraid."

The two stood there, cool droplets obscuring the distance between them. Tinted mud swirled beneath their sandaled feet, reflecting the condition of both souls.

"I need to bathe," she stated the obvious, attention turned to her soiled kimono. "And so do you."

He nodded, understanding the sentiment perfectly. He took the girl’s slim hand without a word, picked up his sword, and led her towards an even more narrow alley.

"Kenshin, what are you…"

"We can't be seen in these clothes."

She held her breath as he expertly led her from one shadow to the next, ducking under overhangs when he could to shield them from the storm. Soon lost in the maze of backstreets, her mind focused on the young redhead before her. She didn't understand what had just happened.

_I know he’s a hitokiri. I've seen him walk in late with blood-stained clothes. He couldn't have reacted just because I saw him kill. Or could he? Was he concerned? Dare I hope?_

"Here," he said, breaking her musings. They had reached the inn. "Go bathe and get some sleep. Forget what you saw tonight."

He released her hand and moved towards the entrance. Kaoru watched him rush up the stairs as she entered behind him, when a practical thought weaseled its way past the still lingering shock.

"You need to wash too."

"Later," he called in mid-step.

"You can't just neglect yourself like this!” she scolded. “At least stop by the laundry to soak your clothes… otherwise they might start smelling like blood all the time."

He paused at the top of the stairwell: silent.

"Kenshin?"

"Nothing. I'll come down later."

"Kenshin," she warned lightly.

An exasperated sigh, then, "I will."

She smiled, calling out after his retreating form, "good."

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kenshin shook his head as he left Kaoru to her necessities. Goodness, the way she berated him you'd think they were married. _Married?!_ He quickly derailed that train before it could develop further.

He slid the shoji to his room open and shut, settling in his usual spot by the window.

_She saw me kill a man. I wanted to protect her…. And now she's washing the gore off her body, a ritual I've done countless times. What if she was just a second sooner? What if the assassin noticed?_

Hands cradled his sore head, trying to dispel the horrific what-ifs that suddenly sprung to mind. Instead, he focused on her last words.

_"You can't neglect yourself like this… they might start smelling like blood all the time."_

But he was a hitokiri. He always smelled like blood. 

_It soaks into my skin, my pores, saturating my very essence. She can't see that? Is she so forgiving? So loving? No. She'll find someone more suited to her. Someone who's not a killer. Someone who'll survive. Maybe that man she's looking for._

That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, different from the familiar tang of blood, but no less unpleasant. This was why hitokiri were loners. There was no place in his chosen life for other people. She would live long after the war passed and he would die or be executed; that was the grim reality.

He remembered the top- pulled it out, examining the wood's grainy surface. The inanimate object didn't seem quite so alive anymore.

"Don't be foolish," he muttered to himself, tucking the top back into his sodden gi. He leaned back and steeled himself for frenzied dreams.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kaoru sat on a wooden stool soaked with tepid water, staring blankly at pink rivulets running down the drain. Her mind was far away from the lonely bathhouse.

 _I love him… I shouldn’t but I do._ Superficially, she tried to convince herself he was nothing but a cold-blooded killer. She failed just as she had every other night, since the first one when she caught him sneaking back after a job. _His work,_ she shivered, remembering how she just stood there tonight, witnessing the dark underbelly of his world. Buzzing with fearful energy and covered in blood; no wonder hitokiri went crazy! _I can’t be a part of that._

But she could be there for him after: by his side. She could keep him sane.

_I could… if he wanted me to. Does he even love me back?_

And what about Keisuke? He’d left to fight for the Shogunate against her father’s wishes, breaking both their hearts. His departure had replayed in her mind earlier with painful clarity: the rain, the whisper, and the kiss. Her first kiss. She had just stood there then too, letting things happen around her without taking action. _I thought I knew Keisuke… thought he knew me, but he still walked away. How? How could he leave us like that?_ Without hesitation, she had packed and followed the next week, determined to correct that mistake. Better judgment be damned!

_I love Kenshin. I still want to find Keisuke, though. He was my… he was like a brother to me. And father loves him as a son. My mission is to bring him home, and I’ll see it through. For all our sakes._

She blinked, finally noticing that the water ran clear. Gooseflesh prickled across her arms as she stood, the cold night air reacting against the dampness on her skin. Kaoru glanced at the dirty yellow kimono crumpled by the door and, embarrassed, realized she didn't have a fresh change of clothes here. _Guess there’s no helping it,_ she slipped into the soiled garment and walked inside. She would change in her quarters, but first, the stubborn girl would make sure a certain redhead took care of himself.

"Kenshin?" she called, tapping on his shoji softly. She slid it open when he didn’t respond, disregarding modesty. Several seconds passed before her night-adjusted eyes found him dosing in the dark by his favorite window. He was still wearing the stained blue gi.

"What?"

She jumped, "Don't scare me like that! I thought you were sleeping."

"I was," he sighed, annoyed.

Guilt emerged for waking him, soon replaced by uncouth anger over his disregard.

"Kenshin! What are you doing sleeping in those clothes? You told me you would wash yourself!" she walked up and felt the edge of his sleeve. "It's still wet too! You'll get sick! If I hadn't come up here, you'd still be sleeping! Promise me you'll go down there and wash up right now!"

"Why?"

"Eh?"

"Why do you care?" his voice was low, but the weighty tone could have silenced a crowded market street.

"Well, I… idiot, because I care!"

"Why?" he pressed.

"What do you mean, 'why?'"

"Why do you care?"

"I know that. I meant why do you need to know. I… can't really answer your question as it is," she hedged, unprepared for the emotional fallout a confession could lead to in the present environment.

"Nevermind," he mumbled. "I'll go bathe. Get some rest."

Kenshin rose from his position by the window, brushing by her as he headed downstairs. He didn't give her a second glance or comment on the kimono she still wore. They were both bloodstained and he didn’t even seem to register that as out-of-the-blue. 

_A hitokiri through and through. Could he ever love me back?_

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

TBC…


	4. Flame and Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings, resolve, and warfare come to a head on the night of the Ikeda-ya meeting...

xxxxxx

Kaoru slumped against a smooth plaster wall just outside the market, basket laden with fresh vegetables hanging off her arm. Before her, a faction of Shinsengumi marched lordly down the street. People parted as they passed, as the sea does for a ship’s bow, pressing together on the sidelines. The wolves’ reputation obviously preceded them: nobody lingered in their path. She watched these actions all from her place crammed against that wall, saline moisture threatening to blur her vision. 

_That smile… that goofy, lopsided smile_. She would never forget it.

Keisuke strutted with the other warriors, adorned in that infamous sea green coat. He moved across her sightline, speaking animatedly to a head-shaved man at his side. Steel swords swung proudly at his hip even as laughter graced his lips.

Her worst fears had come to life. She made a gamble, sticking close to the Ishin Shishi all this time, and lost; he was completely beyond reach now.

As if by some fate-willed cliché, Keisuke’s head swerved toward her then. Reflexively, she shrank into the crowd.

"What is it, Takahata?" she heard his fellow swordsman ask as they passed.

"Nothing… I just smelled jasmine, that's all. It reminded me of someone and I thought I caught a glimpse of her for a second. That’s impossible, though."

"She? And all this time you haven’t bothered to grace us with that little tidbit…"

The voices faded as they moved and she released bated breath.

_If you loved me, why did you leave? Why did you fall out of father's favor? Did you expect me to just sit and wait for you? You really didn't know me at all, did you?_

The street began to fill again in the absence of tension and she ducked for cover off the throughway. An alley, half-nestled behind a costermonger’s stand, made due. She barely made it past the entrance, the short stretch seeming to supernaturally lengthen as she stumbled. The summer sun hung high, beating down on her with a nauseating haze. She tripped fully this time, and fell. Her body slammed across hardened cracked mud: jarring her vision even as tears rose to obscure the surroundings further. She heard the vegetable basket rolling across the dirt, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Its contents were squashed and strewn around her. 

Kaoru choked on a suppressed sob, the new reality of her situation hitting hard. Keisuke (her absolution) was gone- she could never go home now.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kenshin leaned into a doorway, swallowing any smidgens of pride left and standing behind a much taller man, as the Shinsengumi passed. The street emptied ahead of them, apprehension coloring the atmosphere in their wake.

"Look at them so high and mighty," Iizuka snorted, walking up to lounge casually beside him. "Think they own the damn city."

Kenshin didn’t respond; he didn’t see the need to, in all honesty. Instead, the hitokiri watched as the powerful marched on, leaving the weaker citizens to fill any spaces they left. He stayed composed even as he felt a slip of heavy paper slide up his sleeve.

"Tonight," Iizuka whispered, departing quickly as he came.

Kenshin nodded (more to steel himself than to assure a man already out of sight), and placed a discreet hand inside his dark gi to secure the black envelope. After a perfunctory scan of his surroundings, he stepped out of the doorway, acting with a calculated air of indifference.

He didn’t get far before a familiar black ponytail flashed across his peripheral vision. Turning just in time to see her run down an alley (one that dead-ended quickly, if he recalled correctly), Kenshin couldn’t ignore the spark of concern her ki had ignited in him. Distress practically shimmered off her in waves. Without further thought, he followed.

The girl was pulling herself up off the ground (from an apparent fall) when he turned the corner. She remained in a kneeling position, her back to the alley entrance as she attempted to muffle racking cries with either hands or dusty sleeves. Kenshin, with only the slightest hesitation, placed a warm hand on her shaking shoulder. 

“Ah!” Kaoru gasped, spinning around crab-legged to face the man who startled her. Her skin was blotchy: tears and snot clinging in sticky streaks to her chin and cheeks. She met his hardened violet gaze with disarrayed despondence.

"S- sorry," she stuttered, wiping at the watery mess with already wet fingers. "This is the… second time you’ve caught me crying… I'm sorry."

"Don’t."

She paused momentarily and stared, "what? What a… are you talking about? Don’t… what?”

He glared at her pointedly, "don’t apologize… never apologize for this."

"Why not? I should be… you shouldn’t have to put up with my weaknesses.”

He shook his head in bewilderment, muttering, "how can you not see it?"

"What?" her temper flared at the perceived slight, pushing embarrassed guilt aside and quickly dispersing her sniffles. "And just what do you mean by that?"

The boy blinked, stunned, before his mouth quirked in a dawning expression- as if something amusing had suddenly occurred to him.

"Is something funny?" she glowered, even more incensed over the unexpected reaction.

"No… but it seems you've stopped crying now. If you’ll excuse me, I'd best be on my way."

He turned to leave the grimy alley, cocksure, as Kaoru sat speechless in his wake.

"You did that on purpose!" she accused his retreating back.

"Perhaps," he shrugged. The method certainly wasn’t intentional, but the result was.

"Why would you, though?"

Kenshin looked back at the soft, almost inaudible question. The girl was standing up from her vulnerable crouch, daring him to answer as she returned his stare. 

"Hitokiri can’t cry… we must harden our hearts to do what we do. Our life, our happiness is forfeit to the greater good. But our task is impossible. No matter what, we still feel what we must not. The only option left to us is not to act on those feelings. Your tears are not weakness, Kaoru-san... they are a luxury. Appreciate them."

He left her then, self-conscious over their sudden heart-to-heart. _Why did I tell her all that?_ The street was still crowded and he lost himself in the throng easily. _She’s seen me kill… she’s even seen my nightmares. No one alive knows me better outside Shishou. I feel comfortable with her: at peace. Opening up to her was easy as breathing…_

The implications of that thought terrified him. 

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"I heard things didn't go well at the last meeting," Iizuka inquired as he knelt on woven tatami mats. Across from him at the low lacquered table, Katsura shook his head. 

"No, they didn’t." 

"Is it true you struck Miyabe?"

"Iizuka," Katsura warned, his tone unusually abrupt.

"Excuse me,” the messenger apologized just as curtly. “What is it you summoned me for?"

Katsura cleared his throat, pouring his guest then himself sake from a beautifully glazed ceramic set. Always the courteous host, his charisma was one of many attributes that made him a danger to their enemies. Another was his incredible influence as leader of the Choshu domain. He sat there with confident poise in a traditional teahouse parlor, dark hair pulled back in the samurai topknot denoting his station, and stared down his subordinate. Several seconds were spent in silence battling wills while, in the background, a beautiful young geisha played a shamisen. The lavender-colored kimono she wore folded away from her body artfully like newly hatched butterfly wings.

"I need to know about Himura," Katsura finally broke the standoff. Business came before pride, after all.

Iizuka sighed pensively, "According to the inspectors, his sword has dulled recently… but he still works with fluid efficiency. From my perspective however, he hasn't changed one bit since that first kill."

"I see," Katsura nodded thoughtfully, sipping his sake. "He's still pure."

"Never thought of it that way, but either way it’s a good sign, eh?"

"No,” the revolutionary leader shook his head. “He's at conflict with himself. Unless he finds some personal purpose to focus on, to shield against the chaos in his mind… he'll eventually snap.”

"Well," Iizuka drained his sake and stood. "That’s something to keep in mind. I’ll take care of Himura… you just worry about your next meeting with Miyabe. Until then."

"Take care. Tell the others to watch out for Shinsengumi. They’ve grown bolder as of late."

The geisha halted her playing, shuffling gracefully to open the decorative shoji. Iizuka exited with a nod toward the petite woman and she slid the landscape-painted screen firmly shut behind him.

"Done with politics for the night?" she asked with a gentle voice.

"Yes, Ikomatsu."

She approached the low table as he finished the last serving of sake, "would you like some more?"

"No. The drink tastes sour tonight."

“What’s wrong?” Ikomatsu leaned forward, genuine concern in her kohl-lined eyes. Katsura clenched his teeth at her innocuous question, fingers whitening as they squeezed the empty saucer in his hand.

"They want Kyoto aflame."

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Saitou Hajime, third captain of the Shinsengumi, brooded that night on a pair of wooden inn steps. The name and location didn’t matter; the place was only one of many beds he had (and would) sleep in over time. But, tonight, sleep eluded him. He sat outside instead- breathing air stagnant as the dead space inside his room, stars reflecting in feral amber eyes though he never once glanced upward. He didn’t move at all actually, not even to flick the long tendrils of brown hair away from his face. The man’s pose could almost pass for meditative save the terse frown on his lips. 

The plans had been laid. Each Shinsengumi captain received sealed letters earlier that day detailing important intel: a clandestine meeting at the Ikeda-ya and, tomorrow night, the Bafuku would strike at the heart of the Ishin Shishi rebels. Saitou exhaled disdainfully. He considered wiping out those weak samurai who tried to disrupt a stable world and replace it with insubstantial ideals a dull, but necessary, action. One he would carry out with dutiful efficiency. _Aku Soku Zan._ Still, a selfish, bloodthirsty part of the man felt a thrill of anticipation for tomorrow. Anticipation over the mysterious Ishin Shishi hitokiri and the hope he would be there. Saitou chuckled aloud, unable to suppress his morbid eagerness at the thought. Such a unique sword style, coupled with a strong individual, would make for a worthwhile fight. 

"Saitou-san?"

Saitou turned to face the shadows without registering shock. His gaze met the coal-dark eyes of a dolorous young woman, sitting on a partially hidden corner where the porch steps ended. He examined her lithe figure, hugged loosely by a purple shawl, before responding curtly.

"Who are you, woman?"

The woman nodded bashfully, a long black fringe swinging forward to cover the pale skin of her brow. "Please excuse my rudeness. I'm one of the new workers here... my name is Yukishiro Tomoe."

"I see,” something about her demure demeanor didn’t sit quite right with him. “Why do you disturb me?"

"Forgive me… it is late and I thought I was alone. You startled me."

"You were mistaken. I find it quite suspicious a woman such as yourself makes a habit of sitting outside alone at night."

"More so than a man?" Tomoe countered coyly. 

"I am a suspicious man," he admitted bluntly.

"How do you know I am not a suspicious woman?"

"I suppose I don't," Saitou replied, blasé. It was then he realized she held a sheathed dagger close to her chest. He quirked a slender eyebrow as she followed his altered sightline. Rising quickly, Tomoe gave a submissive bow and scurried into the inn’s empty sanctuary. Saitou didn’t even offer her a perfunctory outward show of interest. Inwardly, however, he found his thoughts split between the upcoming fight and a sad woman who faced the night with arms.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

In another inn across the city, Kenshin crept through the door past midnight. His blue gi was stained with fresh blood.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Kaoru stormed down the hall, grumbling. She had landed the much-dreaded and shuffled around duty of room cleaning today. Rooms where samurai men resided. Men were messy.

She slammed the shoji open to another veritable pigpen. Random articles of dark clothing lay strewn about, hiding most of the floor; various knickknacks and a messy open futon covered the rest. _Well, standing here ogling isn’t getting the job done any faster._ Tying back lavender-blue sleeves, she dug into the fray with a gusto fuelled by sheer determination, discarding and organizing until wooden floorboards were once again visible. That task done, she picked up the soapy water bucket and rag left by the entrance. The girl grumbled when she reached a particularly stubborn off-white stain on the floor, leaning her weight into a vigorous scrubbing motion. She honestly didn't want to know what the substance was.

"Where are you from?" a masculine voice suddenly drifted through the room’s rice paper partition as she worked.

"What?" a woman's voice (which Kaoru immediately recognized as Miriko's) answered.

"Where is your family?" the man pressed on with a tone of poorly suppressed urgency. 

"In Osaka, why?"

"You have to go there."

"What? Why?” Miriko asked, confusion colored by her companion’s mysterious alarm. “Is something wrong?"

"Kyoto isn’t safe,” he answered hurriedly. “Especially tonight. Just go, don't ask questions. Please."

"I don't understand."

"Trust me."

Kaoru stepped over the threshold, slid the shoji shut behind her, and continued down the hall. Their voices faded away as she moved. She busied herself with the next room, trying to put the unintentionally eavesdropped conversation out of her mind. Unfortunately, cleaning was routine and tedious work: a perfect storm for getting lost in one’s thoughts. _The Ishin Shishi are planning something big tonight,_ that much she garnered from the snippets she overheard. _But what? If Mariko is being warned to leave… does that mean my life is in danger too? Should I go?_ But then, the runaway remembered bitterly, she had nowhere else to go. She was stuck in this war torn city for better or worse now. Sighing, Kaoru collected her supplies and shuffled over to the last room on her route: Kenshin’s. _No use worrying, especially over something I can’t do anything about. It’s a festival night… an after-hours drink is just what I need to forget._

All unwanted thoughts left her the minute she caught sight of an immaculate room. Kenshin never cluttered his space like the other men did (a phenomenon she attributed to the fact that the hitokiri spent a great deal of time outside his room, alongside his discerning lack of personal belongings). The futon was folded neatly in the corner, unused, while the pile of books he actually slept against was stacked in orderly fashion by the open window. Dealing with a tidy room was absolute heaven on earth after a hard cleaning session, which was why Kaoru always saved his for last. Placing down everything, save the broom, she stepped inside to rid the room of any dust collecting in forlorn corners.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

The sun had just dipped below Kyoto’s roofline, casting long shadows as Kenshin and Iizuka walked side by side down the dusty road. The younger of the two kept his head down while the other sauntered confidently, wide-brim straw hats obscuring both their faces.

"The meeting's tonight," Iizuka whispered with faux-nonchalance. "Miyabe and Katsura are at odds… and, to top it off, Miyabe is warning the men to send their women away. Whatever he's planning, it’s something big."

"I see," Kenshin responded simply. The hitokiri had little patience where his companion’s zeal for gossip was concerned. 

"Well?" Iizuka questioned expectedly, missing the obvious signs of disinterest.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to warn off anybody?" he needled. 

"Why? I barely see or speak to any of the women."

"Yeah, guess you have a point,” the older man sighed, somewhat disappointed. “I'd say that one girl that you seem to get along with, but… well, I’m sure you’ve figured out how she is by now. She's probably not even into men, if you know what I mean."

"Just because she got the better of you?" the redhead questioned, taking the defensive on Kaoru’s behalf. 

"Ah,” Iizuka rubbed the back of his dirt-streaked neck, embarrassed. “You heard about that."

"Yes."

"Well, at least you're not laughing. It wasn’t that funny, and hurt like _Hell_ too! Sure is nice to finally get some sympathy, but I never thought I'd get it from you!"

"There is nothing funny about stupidity," Kenshin deadpanned on cue.

"Damn…"

The men reached the inn then and separated in a fluid motion without farewells. Kenshin made a beeline straight towards his upstairs room, grateful to Iizuka for respecting his reclusion. They were merely allies in a time of war, neither had allusions of being anything else. _A hitokiri can’t afford much more._ As he approached his familiar screen partition, he heard the soft rhythmic sound of bristles brushing against polished wood filtering through. The assassin wasn’t surprised when he opened the shoji to find Kaoru inside sweeping. 

"Yes, Kenshin?" the girl turned azure eyes on him, unmindful of the dusty streak across her brow (probably the result of wiping sweat away with the back of a dirty hand). He stood there for a moment, captivated by the endearing smudge, and pondering Iizuka's words. Men were warned to send their women away because of danger. _Should I… can I put Kaoru through that risk?_ But the hitokiri had already come to terms with the fact they were entirely too close. If he took action, signs would be read.

"Nothing," he replied absently, moving to lean against the wall while she swept. 

“I’m almost done,” Kaoru said and turned back to her sweeping. He watched her back, silhouetted against the setting sunlight shining through his open window. Her raven hair hung loose today, bound at the nape of her neck with a simple strip of cloth. The dark length swayed back and forth. Her movements were smooth, not graceful he noted, but filled with strength and precision. Almost like a sword dance. After several moments of uncomfortable silence she paused, nose crinkled upward as if contemplating a loaded question.

"Kenshin?" she finally asked. "Do you have plans tonight at the Gion Festival?"

"No."

"Well,” she trailed off a bit nervously, resuming her work. “Okami-san gave me the night off. I was wondering… I was thinking of going out for a drink and… well, what’s the use in drinking alone?"

Kenshin stared hypnotically at the young girl's back as she spoke. His first instincts warred between refusal and acceptance while, once again, Iizuka's voice played in his head. An important meeting tonight. And telling the men to warn their women away. His mind’s-eye easily conjured the image of Kaoru walking innocently past an alley full of swords, and sharp shadows creeping forward- 

"I will escort you," he answered, unsure whether ignoring or accompanying her invited more danger at this point. He picked the lesser of two evils without much deliberation, not willing to carelessly place her in anymore danger. Kaoru simply gave him a sideways glance and nodded her thanks. 

"I did your room last. I'll go get ready now."

Kenshin snapped out of his revere in time to watch her leave. Somehow, he managed a stiff, "hai" in response. The wait was relatively short. She shuffled cautiously through his doorway some time later, face washed clean of the adorable dirt streak from earlier and hair pulled up in her usual high ponytail. Her kimono was one he’d never seen before: a navy blue deep enough to match his assassin’s gi with periwinkle butterflies and twisting green vines brocaded across the sleeves. The obi matched her hair ribbon as if cut from the same cloth, both a royal blue shade pleasantly balanced between the light butterflies and dark kimono fabric. 

“Are you ready, Kenshin?” 

He hummed an affirmative, suddenly feeling awkwardly underdressed. She’d obviously made an effort to look especially nice tonight (whether for the festival or him, he was better off not considering). _Too late to do anything about it now._ He followed her outside wearing the same outfit as before, keeping pace with her constricted steps the whole way. Paper white lanterns hung all along the street, illuminating the night stalls as craft-merchants began setting up boisterously. 

They ended up at a nearby bar, the same one from that infamous rainy night, if Kenshin recalled correctly. He also noted that it was less crowded than usual, probably due to so many preparing to flood the festivities instead. A few regulars nursing long tabs were the only customers besides them. Kaoru took the lead, marching over to a corner table and taking a seat with a self-conscious brush down her front. The boy briefly surfaced through the hitokiri’s hardened veneer, smiling fondly at her nervous gesture before following suit. Not long after their prompt order, they had a bottle of shared sake between them; an occasional sip from bone white ceramic cups punctuated the lull of conversation as they talked, though (to be perfectly honest) Kaoru took part in most of the latter.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"That is a vague question," Kenshin deliberately dodged.

"Alright then,” she huffed. “Where did you live before you came here?"

"The mountains."

"That’s a vague answer," Kaoru parried.

"It's the truth," he shrugged, drinking to avoid answering further. 

"Fine, what were you doing in the mountains?"

"Training."

"Training?” the girl’s eyes lit up like a candlewick as he finally offered some interesting morsel of information. “You must have had a master of some sort?"

"Yes. He took care of me and taught me the sword. I came here to use that training," Kenshin poured himself a second cup, reaching over to top off Kaoru’s as well, except hers was still full to the brim. Embarrassed, she quickly chugged the entire thing.

"You came here to be a hitokiri?" Kaoru questioned a bit ludicrously, cheeks pinked.

"Not necessarily,” he sighed, placing his half-empty cup down as the chances of avoiding this topic narrowed to nothing. “I came here to help people… to aid those who suffer because of the government in any way I can. The sword is all I know, so I use that."

"So,” she mumbled, gulping down another cupful. “You kill to save people's lives."

"In a way, yes."

"Sometimes… I wonder if that's all a sword is good for."

"A sword is a weapon. Swordsmanship is learning how to kill," Kenshin quoted his former master with practiced ease. It was a brutal truth he was all too intimately aware of now.

"My father thinks differently,” Kaoru countered in a tone somewhere between resentful and defensive. “He believes a sword should be a weapon of peace, of protection, not war. When people realized this, he said, the world would truly be free of suffering. But now, living in the midst of war, I'm beginning to question the philosophies he always drilled into me. How can a sword save lives when it takes away so many?"

"It was a foolish dream."

"Maybe so," she pondered wistfully. "But it was a nice dream. That's why, no matter what, I could never forgive Keisuke. He promised."

"Who is Keisuke?" Kenshin let out a little more sharply then he intended. Kaoru blanched and raised a slim hand to her mouth in shock. _Now,_ he thought with a slight edge of vindictive, _it’s her turn to be on the other end of an unwanted interrogation._

"The sake must be getting to me… I shouldn’t have said that."

"You barely look flushed," he countered.

"Not that it’s important," she shifted anxiously. "But, Keisuke was my father's top student. He had… family difficulties so we practically raised him. A little over a year ago, he packed up, defied my father, and set off to Kyoto to fight. Father was devastated.”

“Is that why you came here?” 

“Yes,” she said bluntly, glaring daggers as if to say, _now_ this _is how you answer a question._ “I left with high hopes of bashing some sense into his thick skull and dragging him back, all against my father's wishes. As you can see, my brilliant plan wasn't my most successful."

Kenshin couldn't help thinking Kaoru was skirting around her feelings on the matter. However, he kept this observation to himself and voiced another opinion instead.

"I wouldn't call that a plan."

"Oh?” she challenged. “And just what would you call it?"

"Impulsive action."

"And I'm certain you thought out your own little escapade quite thoroughly."

He remained silent, confirming Kaoru's statement.

"You're nobody to judge," she snorted lightly at him. "Besides, I try not to dwell on past regrets… too depressing. What we do with our future is more important than that. More important than killing and stupid mistakes.”

Kenshin stared at Kaoru mutely as she sloshed the clear liquid around in her cup. She lifted it to take a dainty sip before abandoning the vain effort and simply draining everything in one go. A quick refill later, she was back to swirling alcohol again, cradling her chin in the dip of her palm as she thought.

"Sometimes I wonder what people think when they die… what I might think if I knew the end was coming. What do you think was going through that man's head when he scarred your cheek?"

"If I thought about that, I wouldn't be able to kill them."

"Ah, so that's it," the tipsy girl exclaimed quietly. "You prevent yourself from seeing them as people with lives… if you knew them, wondered about them, you wouldn't have the heart to follow through. The sword isn't killing them because you have the power to hold it back. Perhaps there is some logic in father's fairytale, after all. At the very least, maybe we’re not complete fools.”

Before Kenshin could respond properly, Iizuka burst into the bar and ran panting to their table: dark haori jacket hanging in messy disarray off one shoulder as he caught his breath.

"Himura! The meeting- ambush! The Shinsengumi found out and busted up the meeting!"

"Katsura-" the hitokiri stood abruptly as he spoke, bench scraping roughly across the wooden floor behind him.

"We're not sure where he is. Miyabe and a few of the others committed suicide to escape shame. Come on, we need you there!" Iizuka urged.

Kenshin nodded his understanding, turning to leave immediately when he saw Kaoru rise out of the corner of his peripheral. He whirled around to face her.

"What are you doing?"

"Coming with you," she stated casually.

"No," his clipped tone left little room for argument.

"What should I do then?"

"Go back to the inn." 

"They knew about the Ikeda-ya,” she crossed her arms stubbornly, drawing attention to the elaborate stitching on her sleeves. “How do you know they don't know about the others?"

_She has a point…_

"Himura, we don't have time for you to argue this!" Iizuka exasperated.

"Alright," Kenshin sighed, begrudging. He grabbed Kaoru's hand and briskly followed Iizuka outside. She kept pace behind him admirably, considering the constricting clothing she wore. The girl barely even staggered as he strung her along.

"How many units are there?" the hitokiri questioned.

"I'm not entirely sure. Damn, the whole place was overrun! I barely got away myself! At least four, if not more from my judgment."

"Damn," Kenshin muttered.

They slipped through hoards of festival-goers lining the street, bumping into countless people along the way. Rowdy catcalls, roaring laughter, and endless chatter melted together in an incomprehensible conglomerate of white noise as the three fugitives passed. Kenshin kept a disciplined focus on the path Iizuka cleared, trying to ignore how the whirling colors and lights blurred together in his side vision, giving off a slightly dizzying effect. His concentration only broke once, when he felt a slight jostle and pull as Kaoru stumbled. Reflexively, he pulled her forward until she was practically flush against his back, enveloping the smaller hand in his with a tight (almost possessive) grip. She didn’t trip again. Kenshin continued to guide her swiftly, never releasing his hold, noticing for the first time that the softened calluses on her hands strangely mirrored his own. He didn’t have time to ponder that revelation, though. The street they had turned on was ominously empty, despite the loud sounds of revelry clearly audible the next block over. Thick ripples of killing intent slowly oozed over his ki, causing him to halt abruptly, free hand shooting out to grab Iizuka’s shoulder. Even Kaoru seemed to sense it, if the way she lightly bumped his corded back instead of slamming into the suddenly stationary figure before her meant anything.

"They're here," the hitokiri announced softly.

"I'll run on ahead while you take care of them. We're counting on you, Himura," Iizuka bowed his head, dislodging the boy’s grasp before continuing on. Kenshin prepared for a lunge when he felt two small hands clasp his own over the sheathed katana handle. He looked back into determined blue eyes.

"Be safe," she whispered, clearly ill-at-ease wishing him luck.

Kenshin nodded in respectful understanding. She had seen the sword that kills before, in that rainy blood-soaked alley, but now he knew she was also a product of the sword that protects. Her ethical dilemma was one he admired, though he didn’t envy it. Slender white fingers slid away as he stepped slowly around the next corner. He felt Kaoru's gaze following every movement. A group of soldiers, five by quick head count, stood semi-circle around a corpse in the alleyway mere meters away. Almost simultaneously they turned to face the petite man, all adorned in identical sea green coats.

"Who are you?" a tall, broad-shouldered man (apparently the leader) shouted.

"It doesn’t matter. You are in the way," Kenshin declared as he grasped the handle of his katana. The Shinsengumi foot soldiers could only watched horrified as Battousai unleashed a deadly battoujutsu. One of their comrades plodded to the ground, scant seconds after his entrails hit the dirt with a wet plop. The survivors could only gap at the assassin, amber eyes gleaming an eerie yellow in the faint streetlight. They had barely seen him move.

"It- it's him! The hitokiri!"

Battousai surged forward in a flash of cold steel. Spin, back step, lunge, thrust. Metal clashed in a cruel dance. Slashed throat, impaled chest, run through his shoulder, slice the vein; everything was almost mechanical. Later, Kaoru would remember thinking that as she watched the battle from her shadowy alcove. Battousai fought without emotion or error: without humanity. She looked on, breath bated, as he sprinted forward. A soldier swung down ambitiously and grating metal rung through her ears. Battousai twisted his blade, dislodging the other, flicking his wrist expertly to convert the movement into a smooth upward swing. Screams filled the darkness as the man clutched at the bloody stump of his arm.

Kaoru couldn't help herself, sick fascination overwhelmed her better senses. She stepped out of the shadows to stand in the middle of the deserted road. She stared, enraptured, as scarlet blossomed on sea green while the man cradled his mutilated limb. His cries became hollow echoes of pain as she continued to observe- echoes of the pain in her own heart, the pain of Keisuke's departure, the pain of her father's loss, the pain of Kenshin's duty, the empty ache of everyday toil, the agony of knowing you, like every human being, were destined to die. _To suffer in some inexplicable way with or without purpose._ Battousai, however, was merciful. He did not give the newly minted cripple much time to ponder this pain, a quick thrust pinned him to the wall by his throat. A low-pitched crack sounded as the man's spine severed. Only then was the body released to slide down, joining its brethren. Kaoru's eyes followed, unable to break contact. Blood poured out of the dead man’s vacant gaze, staining him and the ground where he fell.

Kenshin turned once the last man fell to find Kaoru in a daze, eyes riveted to the corpse at his feet. The expression on her face came deathly close to frightening him, a warped mixture of horror and anticipation. That face belonged to him. _Not her._

"Kaoru."

The girl (trance broken) looked up at him, stunned to find the fight had already ended. Kenshin's eyes were no longer amber but a hard edged blue, teetering on the border between a violet eyed boy and a hardened killer. Kaoru allowed her gaze to slip from him to the bodies littering the ground. She paused for a moment on each one to consider what he wouldn’t. _That man has a wife who will never hold him again. That one has a young child who will now grow up with only faded memories of a father's face._ And that one, with the messy black hair falling out of its topknot, he was her Keisuke. She looked up at the young man who inflicted this damage. A young man who couldn't let himself see the people beyond cooling flesh. A young man who killed more of himself everyday to uphold this futile charade. Kaoru felt sympathetic tears well, and didn’t bother suppressing them after the first one escaped. Kenshin's eyes fastened on the crystalline drop as it tracked down her cheek.

"Don't cry," his soft plea reverberated with shattering clarity through the unnatural silence around them.

"I'm mourning," she replied just as softly.

"Why are you mourning?"

"For you." 

Kenshin blinked in confusion, before the memory of previous conversations broke through his battle fugue. Regretful understanding rippled across his neutral hitokiri expression. But, unfortunately, time could not stand still for them tonight. Their silent space was disrupted by a distant death cry that cut-off abruptly, followed by muffled shouts, even as faint festival music and laughter laced the background. The hitokiri didn’t waste a moment. He flicked blood off his blade with a sharp motion, leaving the weapon unsheathed in his right hand as he offered the left. 

“Come. The night is far from done.”

Kaoru hurriedly swiped a decorative sleeve over her watery eyes and took his hand, unmindful of the sticky blood congealing on his fingertips. They continued their trek toward the Ikeda-ya at a brisk pace. 

Kenshin stopped suddenly at a corner when he heard voices, a collection of them (stationary, judging by the lack of footsteps) just around the bend. Kaoru bumped lightly against him in surprised reaction. With an unnecessary hushing gesture, he pulled her stealthily along to peer around. A group of seven Shinsengumi were huddled a disturbing scant feet away, engaging in low, heated conversation. At the fore, a tall imposing man with brown hair and narrow amber eyes stood stoically over the proceedings. The warriors seemed distracted enough, but Kenshin wasn’t about to risk otherwise. Slowly, he began to lead a suddenly unresponsive Kaoru back out of sight.

"Keisuke," the word was breathless, barely audible, and yet the weight it carried left Kenshin frozen. His eyes darted frantically to the group. As if on instinct, a young boy, wild black hair barely contained by a twisted white headband, turned toward them. Kenshin had hardly processed this danger when he found himself pushed against the wall, Kaoru pressed firmed to his chest. A flush of shame flooded through him when he realized the girl had recovered and taken action before he had.

"Takahata," the brown-haired leader addressed his sidetracked subordinate sharply.

" Yes?” Keisuke immediately snapped to attention, running a nervous hand through his hair at the glare he was receiving. “Sorry, Saitou-taichou, I thought I heard something. I must be really homesick because I thought I saw Kao-chan for a moment."

Kenshin felt Kaoru wince at the endearment.

"Your woman?"

"Yes."

"In that case, I suggest you get your mind off unrelated matters and back on the subject at hand. We have a war to win before you can return to her."

"Of course. My apologies, Saitou-taichou."

Tremors traveled through the light material of Kenshin’s gi, from her body to his. Kaoru was shaking; her posture taut as she curdled into him almost desperately. _She doesn’t want him to see her,_ he realized, sandwiched in the dark between a wall and her fears. _The man she came for… she doesn’t want him to see us._ They cowered there, together, while the Shinsengumi continued to plot. Several nerve-wracking minutes passed before duty began nagging the hitokiri’s brain once again. These men were his enemies, regardless of personal relations. The fingers wrapped around his katana handle clenched reflexively at that thought. Arm muscles tensed in anticipation of action and, for the second time that night, two slender hands covered his own. When he met her pleading eyes he knew she would not let go. A brief flash of memory ( _Akane-san begging as she shielded his body- her desperate outstretched hand as she was lifted away- her last beseeching gaze as she wasted her dying breath on a useless child like him_ ) stalled his movement. Kenshin couldn't refuse those eyes. Nodding in surrender, he switched the position of their hands, leading her away from that portentous alley. Saitou glanced up just in time to catch the ghostly outline of two indistinct figures fading into the night.

"Saitou-taichou?"

"Nothing," the third captain grumbled. He dismissed (but didn’t forget) the almost surreal impression.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Katsura sat under a bridge on the outskirts, his face obscured by a straw sandogasa hat and features disguised by a worn oversized haori. Behind him, the city of Kyoto burned: orange light from the flames casting him in silhouette. A short red-haired swordsman stood in his long flickering shadow on the riverbank, blade sheathed and a well-dressed woman by his side. All three watched the destruction solemnly, the peaceful trickling of river water clashing grimly with the distant sounds of war violence. 

"Our bases are being flushed out,” Katsura finally spoke in a resigned monotone. “The city's in chaos- all our hard work-"

"What do we do?" Kenshin questioned.

"We need to hide out, replenish our resources. I have a small house in Otsu where you should be safe, Himura… Kaoru-san, stay with him. A married couple will be less suspicious than a single man living alone. There’s a small shrine along the way run by an Ishin sympathizer. He can marry you two to keep questions at bay and, when this ordeal is over, I'll tell him to destroy the records so no one will be any the wiser."

Kenshin and Kaoru stood speechless at this request. They exchanged a brief uncertain glance before hers flicked away, accompanied by a telling blush. 

"And,” the redhead deflected poorly, turning his attention back to Katsura. “What will you do?" 

"I’ll lay low as well,” the older revolutionary answered. “Don’t worry, I'll send an informant out to you… keep you updated about our position when I can. Here," he handed Kenshin a folded piece of paper. "These are written directions to various safe house and properties surrounding Kyoto, including the house and shrine I’ve mentioned. Burn it as soon as you reach Otsu. I can’t stress enough how crippling it would be if this information landed in the wrong hands." 

The hitokiri shook his head in response.

“Then I bid you farewell until we meet again,” Katsura gave a shallow bow, which the couple returned, and departed swiftly. Kenshin watched the man’s retreating back until the night swallowed it fully. Then, he finally addressed Kaoru.

"What should we do?” he asked. “Should we go to Otsu?"

Kaoru regarded his inquiry with an uncharacteristic shy smile. 

"As husband and wife?"

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Dawn broke over a devastated city as Saitou stormed into the Shinsengumi’s makeshift camp. He was grimy and sweaty from the night’s events, shoulder throbbing in pain due to a stray blade’s lucky swipe. The wound was shallow, however, easily dismissed- especially since the heady after-rush of battle still pumped through him. He couldn’t stop grinning. Perhaps drinking all that sake before hand was partially to blame as well. Alcohol always did get his blood running.

An unexpected flash of white in his peripheral disturbed the wolf’s rambling thoughts. Switching over to sobriety in a calculated heartbeat, Saitou turned his head to see Tomoe sitting on the ground behind the commander’s hastily constructed meeting tent. Her dagger was in hand again, half unsheathed as she stared searchingly into the metallic depths. Fleetingly, he wondered if she was looking for an answer or a question. Saitou barely had time to ponder further (let alone wonder what a respectably composed woman was doing in the middle of an army camp) when she glanced over her shoulder, catching his amber eyes with her ebony. No words were spoken. She sheathed the small blade, rose, and tucked the object discreetly in the square tie of her obi. She bowed with proper grace (as a camp whore never would, especially towards him) and drifted away. Saitou's face remained impassive throughout the whole encounter. 

_That woman is indeed suspicious._ And he was intrigued.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is easily the most heavily edited chapter from my earlier days. Seriously, it's over 2000 words longer! The basic events haven't really changed from the original... I just added _a lot_ of background details and elaborated much more on Kenshin and Kaoru's various emotional conflicts throughout.


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